


Self Defense 101 with Diego Hargreeves

by Ijustwannaread



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustwannaread/pseuds/Ijustwannaread
Summary: Diego and Klaus cross paths once when they are twenty-six. Diego extends a helping hand the only way he knows how: hand to hand combat.





	Self Defense 101 with Diego Hargreeves

Diego cracked open a can of tuna, leaned back luxuriously in the ripped leather driver's seat of his car, and flicked the radio on scan. As he joylessly forked some of the fish into his mouth , radio stations flicked on and off.

Baseball. _Boring._

NPR. _Hard pass._

Some throwback emo song from a few years back. _Tempting, but might drown out the police scanner._

Kelly Clarkson - Since U Been Gone. _He was alone, who would ever know?_

Settling into the sound of righteous break-up energy, Diego surveyed the twinkling lights of the cityscape. In any of those buildings, maybe most of them, some type of violence was about to go down. An armed robbery, maybe even a murder attempt or a hostage situation. It was a waiting game.

He finished his snack, and ran his finger along the sharp edges of the can to try and get the last remnants. He tapped on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song.

“ _10-71, warehouse on Central Ave and Leister, repeat-_ ”

Gunshots. Bingo.

Diego turned the key in the ignition. The warehouse district was always a veritable treasure trove of criminal activity, so he tended to park close. Closer than the police patrol, at least. It was shaping up to be a decent night.

Diego coaxed his car into drive, and then hit the gas. He peeled out of his waiting spot and Central Ave was in sight in minutes courtesy of his naturally demented driving tactics.

He double parked and then slipped his mask onto his face with precision. Creeping towards the entrance, he hesitated for a second. The only good thing about actually being a member of law enforcement would have been the constant stream of relevant intel. He glanced back at the scanner in his car, but thought better of it when he saw the blessed sight of a fire escape ladder located conveniently close to a dumpster, promising stealthy access to the building.

All it took one good leap and some moderately impressive upper body strength to enter the second floor. Just as Diego shattered the remnants of a windowpane, another gunshot sounded from the floor above. The sound of something heavy falling came from above, rattling the metal fire ecape.

Diego swung his legs into the dark room and sprinted for the the hallway, sliding dangerously on a mysterious slickness on the floor.

He found the nearest stairwell and flew up one flight, then slowed down to asses the situation. He creaked the door to the hallway open. There was a bright, cool light emanating from underneath the door at the end of the hall, so he crept in its direction. When he reached the door, he positioned three knives at his knuckles and one at the ready in his opposite sleeve. Then he unceremoniously kicked the door in.

Immediately, three different guns pointed at him.

Perfect. One for each one of his knives.

Diego threw them in a flash, and each of the guns dropped the second that their owner registered the two inches of metal embedded in their sternums. With the men left swallowing their own blood, Diego turned his attention to the rest of the room, notably the cabinet very clearly filled to the brim with bricks of what he could only assume were majorly illegal substances, and the figures remaining at his peripheral.

“Take it easy, man,” one of the men said, holding up his hands. Diego narrowed his eyes. He caught a glimpse of the gun sitting on a table top within reaching distance of the man's beefy arm, and sent his last knife towards his tricep. There was one other man standing in the corner, holding another man in a tight headlock such that all that was visible of the figure was the top of his messy, dark hair. They were both standing over a crumpled figure on the ground, who was surrounded by a pool of blood near his temple.

The man pointed a gun at man's captured head.

“Careful, buddy, or I'll shoot him,” he warned. Diego, out of easily accessible knives, took a second to glance down and then found a stray white powder brick and launched it at the man's head. He stumbled back, screeching, and dropped his grip on his victim. He twitched forward towards Diego, but Diego had already gotten himself in range to deliver a solid right hook that drilled the man's head back so thoroughly that he rammed his temple into the side of the wall and probably skinned one side of his cheek as he bonelessly slid to the ground.

Diego looked back towards the doorway to make sure that there wasn't any backup arriving. The man whose arm he sliced was holding his wound and all but crying, so Diego ignored him. Suddenly, he registered the sound of faint clapping. He turned around and his jaw dropped.

Klaus was folded on his knees on the floor, having not recovered from an sloppy release from the assailant's hold. Despite the obvious bruising on his neck and a streak of blood running down his face, he was smiling a loopy wide smile and clapping enthusiastically at Diego.

“Whooo, brutal,” he said, then spit out a mouthful of blood.

“Klaus?” Diego said. “What the fuck- what the fuck are you doing- here?” He managed.

“You know, honestly it must have been a total mix-up. Is this not vacation Bible camp?” Klaus said, standing up cautiously. Diego wondered how he had managed not to recognize his brother sooner just from the painted on red leopard print pants, the iridescent and wildly oversized sports coat, and his signature Converse. Active combat really was distracting.

The wail of a police siren sounded from the distance, and Diego's heart started to race. This was not a good scene for Klaus. He glanced out the window to see if he could see if the approaching police were in sight yet. Klaus was leaning over the fallen figure on the ground, feeling pointlessly for a pulse.

“He's dead, Klaus. Look, we have to go,” Diego said. Klaus pretended not to hear him, and tried to turn the body over. Diego strode over to his brother, and grabbed him by on the weirdly damp arm of his coat and pulled towards for the window. Klaus stumbled a bit with the force, so he pulled harder.

“Diego-” Klaus protested. Diego just cleared some of the glass from the edges of the window with a gloved hand and shoved Klaus through.

“Oy, careful with the merchandise!” Klaus groaned, but slipped through and disappeared down the rusty fire escape for Diego to follow.

Klaus paused at the sudden drop off at the bottom, so Diego swung down gracefully before him, dropping into a practiced crouch on the ground. He looked back up at his brother expectantly. Klaus swallowed.

“You know, I had actually started to kind of feel at home up here, I might just see myself back in,” he said, looking grey in the face.

“You seriously want to explain all that shit to the police?” Diego shot back. “Wow, give me a second to climb back up, I would just love to see how that plays out.”

Moments later, they were jogging down the alley, red and blue lights flashing ominously behind them.

“Car's down that way,” Diego said, glancing over at Klaus. He was alarmed at how ragged Klaus' breathing had become and the sheen of sweat that had already formed on his brow.

“Should really have picked up that pilates class,” Klaus gasped. He saw Diego's car around the corner, and beamed. “Oh thank Christ, the Batmobile!”

“Shut it,” Diego said. He whipped the passenger door open and rounded the car to jump into the driver's seat. He hit the accelerator and their getaway was underway.

Only when Diego pulled onto a busier road did he let out a breath. Klaus was slumped into the passenger side, listing towards the window and chucking low and madly. Diego opened his mouth to truly give Klaus a piece of his mind when he realized that there was a streak of red on the light blue leather of his steering wheel. It took him a second to realize that his right glove was sticky with a layer of blood.

“Klaus, are you bleeding?” Klaus rolled his head lethargically towards Diego and looked at him like he'd just asked what color the sky was. He moved a hand up to point at the crusted blood on his forehead, but then winced instead and clutched his upper arm, hissing in pain. When he let go, it came back bloody.

“Huh,” he observed blandly.

“God,” said Diego, and stepped down on the accelerator.

“You know, those guys had really shit aim, but I think they might have gotten me just a touch,” Klaus said, and gave a short, wild chuckle.

Diego just maintained a death grip on the steering wheel until he pulled into the lot behind the boxing gym. He parked with a sharp lurch.

“Come on.” His tone certainly didn't invite any alternatives. Klaus staggered out of the car and followed doggedly to the back entrance of the gym. They crept through the main room, which was eerie and dark save for the moonlight reflecting on the chains holding up the punching bags and the sides of the boxing ring.

“Diego,” Klaus whispered. “No offense, but I really don't want to join your fight club.” His eyes flicked around conspiratorially.

Diego grit his teeth and let out a low sound to indicate that Klaus really needed to shut up.

“Oh, my bad, was I not supposed to talk about-” Diego cut him off by pushing him towards the door to the boiler room and slamming it behind them.

“Oh, were we not sneaking around?” Klaus asked, and spun around bodily to inspect Diego's humble room. Diego winced, but focused on the task at hand. He went to the large cabinet of the second hand desk he'd bought in the first week he had moved in and took out a roll of gauze and a large container of rubbing alcohol. He slammed them down on the desk's surface, and looked at his brother expectantly. Klaus was too busy running his fingers through the knife marks in the shooting target poster he'd stolen from the Police Academy to take notice.

“Very cozy, kudos to your decorator for the charm.”

“Get over here,” Diego commanded, and Klaus, for what it was worth, wearily flounced over.

Diego pulled at the sleeve of Klaus' coat, but Klaus recoiled.

“I got it, I got it!” he protested, leaning back protectively and then gingerly peeling back his vibrant coat to reveal the large bloody tear in his upper bicep. Just a flesh wound, Diego though grimly. In any ER, Klaus would have gotten many, many stitches, but Diego figured he'd consent to settle for the scar. Stitches were above his pay grade.

He took a gauze pad and dumped a liberal amount of rubbing alcohol on it.

“Sit down, this is gonna hurt,” he warned. Klaus dropped into the leather chair next to the desk, frighteningly obedient.

Diego pressed the gauze to the flayed skin on his arm.

Klaus didn't even flinch.

Of course he didn't.

This close, Diego could see Klaus's pupils were absolute pinpricks.

Diego finished his triage wordlessly, wrapping the gauze a touch too tight around his upper arm. He left briefly to deposit the bloody rags in dumpster out behind the gym. When he returned, Klaus was fast asleep, curled awkwardly in the hard chair. Diego sucked in a long breath and then settled for throwing a thick blanket on his sleeping form and then stripped out of his crime fighting uniform to fall into bed himself.

 

\----

 

Diego woke up promptly at six in the morning, his internal clock hardwired to get him up at the first hint of sunrise despite the fact that he had lain awake for an hour before finally drifting off that night. Klaus' presence had noticeably thickened the air in the stuffy boiler room, and Diego had kept surreptitiously glancing over to watch the even rise and fall of his shoulders in the chair untilhhis exhaustion finally won out worry.

None of Diego's siblings had ever seen his living space after the Academy, not even the little place he had while he was training to be a cop. He could probably count on one hand the interactions he'd had with any of them in the last few years, especially after Vanya had written her book. She'd been the only one of his siblings he even wanted to keep in touch with before she'd fucked up so royally.

The closet thing he'd had to contact with Klaus was from following the police blotter and occasionally seeing his name connected to petty theft or possession charges. It was a nice way to know he was still alive, at least.

Now Diego realized that “alive” might be a stretch. Last night's near death incident aside, Klaus looked like a ghost. It was hard to reconcile this person with the brother he had traveled the world with once upon a time, kicking ass. His pale white skin looked stretched his over his sharp bones. The cut above his forehead stood out in starkly in the dawn light. The remnants of his black eye makeup had streaked down his face, resembling tear tracks on one side. It was almost hard to look at him.

Diego rubbed the thick scar tissue above his ear. He himself had exceptional fighting prowess and wickedly acute senses, but even that hadn't stopped him from almost getting filleted like a fish from time to time.

Diego heaved himself out of bed. He pulled out his vat of protein power and mechanically started adding ingredients for his morning protein shake. His mouth twitched upward wickedly and he doubled the amount of ingredients.

Diego changed into his workout gear. Usually, the gym was relatively quiet before seven in the morning, which would make this the perfect moment to ambush Klaus without an audience. He evenly poured out the thick muddy sludge of the shake into two glasses. He took a bracing swig from one, and then pounded the second one loudly on the desk, inches from Klaus' head.

At the abrupt noise, Klaus shot up with a gasp. He looked around wide-eyed, placing a hand on his heart. He spotted Diego standing in the corner staring him down and relaxed fractionally. He sniffed a bit, spotting the beige drink next to him.

“No offense, but what is that is that ungodly smell?” Klaus asked, wrinkling his nose and peering at the protein shake like it was a piece of roadkill.

“Breakfast, brother,” Diego announced. “You're gonna want it, trust me.”

He raised his eyebrows, a silent request for Klaus to please consume some calories.

Klaus gave it another look and gave a full body shudder.

“Tempting,” he said.

Diego rummaged into his dresser and pulled out a pair of joggers that he'd shrunk in the wash and a faded t-shirt. He threw them at Klaus, who made no moves to catch them from landing on his chest.

“What's this?” He asked, inspecting the pile of soft fabric.

“Put it on and come with me,” Diego instructed. He crossed him arms.

“Pass.”

Diego stalked up to Klaus' chair and drove a knife into the wood of his desk next to the glass.

“Not asking,” he said. Klaus lost the last shred of color in his face. Diego turned away and headed for the door.

“Five minutes. Then you're coming out to the gym. Don't bother trying the windows, they're bolted down,” he added.

Ten minutes later, Klaus appeared in the hallway. He was still wearing his obnoxious printed pants, but he had changed into the t-shirt on top, which he was swimming in. He wasn't wearing shoes.

Diego looked down at his outfit choice in distaste.

“You're gonna regret that,” he said, shaking his head. Klaus shrugged.

They walked into the main gym straight to a collection of free mats in the corner. The few early morning gym rats paused mid-bench press to stare at Klaus like he was a circus clown that just rode in on a unicycle. Diego gave them a stormy warning look, and they all returned to their lifts while clearly still watching out of the corners of their eyes.

“Look, you wanna get mixed up with actual drug lords, I can't stop you. But you gotta stand a chance at defending yourself at least,” Diego said. Klaus looked nonplussed, and folded his arms together. He lowered his chin and looked at Diego through his eyelashes.

“It's not like you forgot all the training, Klaus,” Diego said, resisting the urge to throw up his arms.

“Diego,” Klaus whined. “You know I was never a fighter like you or – hell- like _Luther_ -”

Diego bit back an instinctive growl.

“Okay- you remember takedowns, right? Just show me one,” he said. Klaus looked at him like he'd asked him to do an Olympic floor routine. Diego opened his arms in a welcoming, come-at-me gesture.

Klaus blinked, and pointed himself as if to say “who, me?” Diego felt that rage start to boil again.

He wound up and threw a punch towards Klaus's face, prepared to pull it.

Pulling it was unnecessary, though, because Klaus ducked out of the way in a flash. Diego was about to grin when all the wind rushed out of his lungs and an all-encompassing pain hit his groin. He bent over, wheezing.

Klaus had kicked him in the goddamn nuts. Jesus.

Recovering, Diego moved automatically and swept a kick that took Klaus's legs from under him, and then came down on a knee, pressing an elbow into Klaus' bony sternum.

“Uncle, uncle!” Klaus sputtered. Diego stood back up, looking down at Klaus' prone form and feeling a stab of guilt. He extended a hand. Klaus took it and allowed himself to be pulled swiftly upward.

“Not bad,” Diego said. The throbbing in his crotch hadn't fully subsided.

“Screw you,” said Klaus, without heat.

“You wanna show me a takedown now, or do you wanna eat mat again?” Diego said, opening his arms wide once more.

Klaus ran a hand through his wild hair and then swiftly flipped Diego off, but then he lunged at Diego's lower torso, embedding his chin just below his ribcage, and sloppily twisted his right leg behind Diego's. Center of gravity disrupted, Diego and Klaus fell backwards onto the mat with Diego pinned beneath him. Diego grinned, and then grabbed Klaus' wrist with one hand and the back of his elbow with another. He gave one tug and flipped over on top of Klaus, launching him onto his back as if he were a ragdoll. He pinned both of his wrists.

“Ugh,” Klaus moaned, disoriented.

“Now you,” he challenged. Klaus let his head loll to the mat in defeat. He made a low, choked noise.

Diego opened his mouth to tell Klaus to quit the theatrics and get it together when Klaus whipped his head up and hawked up a truly impressive wad of spit right at Diego's eye.

“Aw god- nasty!” Diego wiped his stinging eye, hand instantly slick with the thick drool that had already dripped disgustingly close to his mouth.

The next thing Diego knew, he was horizontal on the mat, clutching his throat and sucking in breath as though from a straw. His vision had gone cloudy and his windpipe was on fire.

He forced himself into a sitting position, and when his vision cleared he saw Klaus sitting on his knees next to him on the mat, looking at him like he was a live bomb with five seconds left on the timer.

Diego choked out a cough, and took a deep breath.

“Are you freaking serious?” he demanded. His voice was strained but at least still worked. Klaus, apparently satisfied that Diego was out of commission for at least a moment, gave a cheeky little shrug.

“This was your fucking idea, Muhammad Ali,” he said.

“Could you just practice one technique that isn't banned by the MMA?” Klaus rolled back into a sitting position and crossed his legs like he was in a meditation class rather than a boxing gym.

“I don't know what the MMA is, but I seem to recall you were the one who almost blinded Luther when we were fourteen,” Klaus jabbed sweetly. Diego blinked. He had forgotten that particular event, but now that Klaus mentioned it, he did remember sparring with Luther after he'd done... something... particularly annoying and that he had, indeed, attempted to gauge Luther's eyes out. However, Klaus had failed to mention that Luther had then thrown him into a wall so hard that one of Diego's back molars was still loose to this day.

Mom had said nothing as she fixed a bandaid to his arm, but Reginald had declared it a highly successful session.

“God, Klaus can't you just not talk?” Diego said, and stood up. He offered a hand to Klaus. When Klaus reluctantly accepted, Diego noticed the red stain on the gauze on his upper arm.

“Time out- you opened that cut again,” he said, and he made to head back to the boiler room.

“Gee, I wonder why,” Klaus scoffed.

As they made their exit, Diego received a hearty clap on his shoulder from the gym manager.

“Never thought I'd see the day. Somebody actually fights dirtier than Diego Hargreeves,” he mused. A chorus of low chuckles followed. Diego shot the general room a withering look and picked up the pace.

As soon as they were back in his boiler room haven, Diego made for his first aid stash. He turned on Klaus, brandishing a fresh bandage, just in time to see him dry swallow a pill from his coat pocket.

“I'm guessing that's not tylenol,” Diego said flatly.

“Vitamin D supplement. It's so damn cloudy in this city. You should look into it, health freak,” Klaus replied. Diego grabbed Klaus's arm and pulled his arm toward him with excessive force.

“When are you going to quit all this bullshit, Klaus?” Diego asked.

“Oh, I don't know, maybe when you stop _beating people senseless_ and calling it a day job,” Klaus shot back.

Diego slapped him gently on the side of the head for good measure.

“Exactly,” Klaus said.

After that, Diego dressed Klaus's wound in a heavy silence.

As he secured the bandage, a loud knocking came on Diego's door.

“Hargreeves! You're on the clock!” The manager called.

“Take it easy! I'm coming!” Diego yelled back.

Diego turned back at Klaus and fixed him with a long, hard look. Then he shook his head and made to leave.

“My manager keeps a stash of donuts in his office. End of the hall, door's unlocked,” he said from the doorway. Then he shut the door behind him. Klaus' grateful smile fell just short of reaching his eyes.

 

When Diego finished his first round of cleaning for the day, Klaus was long gone.

 

Weeks later, he read the story of a pawn shop owner discovered to have nearly lost an eye in an altercation with an unknown perp.

Yep, still alive. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone else love the short scene where Diego and Klaus team up to fight in the VA? I sure did, and that inspired. I also love the fact that they both go for headbutts almost exclusively, and Diego is canonically a biter. Thus, I needed to concoct a scenario in which they could snark/wrestle. 
> 
> As always, I'd love any comments!! (Please let me know if you liked it, or if you wouldn't mind if Klaus spat in your face, too)


End file.
